


Labyrinthian Waltz

by Belladonna_Q



Category: Labyrinth (1986), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Art Fill, Crossover, Dancing, Dream-like Sequence, Flirting, Labyrinth References, M/M, Prompt Fill, Purple Prose, reapersun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6629527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna_Q/pseuds/Belladonna_Q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from @perlockholmes AKA sweetscribe:</p><p>"I would die for some sort of Labyrinth and Johnlock crossover!"<br/>---</p><p>Through the music that swelled came a silken voice and John jolted, bringing his eyes up to the corner of the mirror, to who was immediately behind him.</p><p>Sherlock.</p><p>John spun, but the man had vanished, the various dancers and patrons sauntering around the floor. John stood there, struggling through the crowd, looking so intently he failed to notice the man was now to his very right, as if having appeared like a wisp of smoke, leaning against a column, head tilted near his ear.</p><p>“You look remarkable tonight, John.” He had rumbled.<br/>---<br/><span></span><br/>For <a href="http://www.reapersun.tumblr.com">Reapersun </a>and <a href="http://www.belladonnaq.tumblr.com">BelladonnaQ's </a>prompt fest :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Labyrinthian Waltz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sweetscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetscribe/gifts).



The four deceptively fragile crystal balls caught all light, shimmering in his palms, skirting around his smooth wrist as he moved them with practiced ease. He took his time, feeling their heft, watching them gleam, clearly choosing among them. Deciding suddenly, he plucked one from his hand and flicked it towards the sky where it bobbed briefly and floated, small yet unusually cumbersome, before softening, become nearly weightless—a beautiful, iridescent sphere as delicate as a soap bubble.

Sherlock had smirked then and motioned with a subtle movement of his head, letting the cold ball drift away from him with purpose. It headed towards the softening sky, towards dusk, guided to follow the dying light. The other globes rose into the air, and were quick to track their master’s lead.

_Find him._

 

* * *

 

The ballroom was far grander that John’s own imagination could ever conjure on its own accord. Large, opulent chandeliers hung, spreading down from the ceiling and scattering like magnificent, intricate roots. Each golden arm cradled several egg-white candles which burned brightly, casting flickering shadows against vaulted ceilings. Lengths of pearled beads hung from each chain and dripped toward the floor.

Dazed, John Watson turned, feeling the strands ghost along his shoulder as he brushed past, walking cautiously towards the center of the room. He brought his focus down to those figures which filled the room—the dancers, who in turn, focused on him as well. Eyes wholly obscured by their horned and elaborate half-masks; he could only see their mouths—twisted with laughter and biting white smiles. A twinge of insecurity bubbled within him, feeling their snickers and stares directed at him so sharply. Their smiles might as well have been knives across his skin.

 _How did I get here?_ A confused and innocent enough question, and yet it didn’t fill him with any sense of alarm.

He had struggled to focus, even as his vision continued to soften into a blurred, comfortable haze.  _Harriet_. The name leapt to the surface with abject clarity. He had to get to Harriet. Harry. His sister, his responsibility… He was the adult, her elder, her protector, his sole purpose in this frightening, strange world—and yet she was lost because he—

The haunting music swelled and John drifted, his thoughts escaping him once more.

John continued forth, and did his best to take in each person, attempting to catch their eyes. Were they friends? Foes? He failed to tell, unable to sense a connection. The women wore striking pastel gowns, shoulders bare and necklines plunging while they let the men, with their feathered caps and velvet capes, whirl them on the floor. A swirling couple bumped into his side and he bit back the reflexive apology that sprang to his lips as they twirled around him, paying him no heed, enamored in one another. There was an indolent, comfortable grandeur to their movements, as more dancers began to move around him.

 _This doesn’t feel real_ , John thought.  _But surely, it must be?_

John kept forward, shoulders squared; making his way toward the front of the room. To his left, two women brought feathered fans to their mouths and he heard a clear murmur and snicker as he strode past. Their half-masks were snouted and beastly.

A gathering before him splintered off and before him now was a large, ornate thirteen-hour clock . Quite near it, was a golden mirror and John Watson stopped dead.

Gone were his gray jumper and dark, threadbare jeans he had worn so far in his travels. He wore now a white, well- fitted suit, a single pocket on his left breast adorned with a single red, silk square. Fully buttoned, he could catch the glimpse of a blood-coloured waistcoat underneath, to match the crimson tie pulled against his white collared shirt, tight against his throat. He brought a hand to it, stunned, immediately feeling out of place. Too modern, much too contemporary compared to the harlequins and old-fashioned, Victorian flare behind him, before him, all around him.

“Do you like it?”

Through the music that swelled came a silken voice and John jolted, bringing his eyes up to the corner of the mirror, to who was immediately behind him.

 _Sherlock_.

John spun, but the man had vanished, the various dancers and patrons sauntering around the floor. John stood there, struggling through the crowd, looking so intently he failed to notice the man was now to his very right, as if having appeared like a wisp of smoke, leaning against a column, head tilted near his ear.

“You look remarkable tonight, John.” He had rumbled.

He flinched, turning to glare with surprise. Sherlock threw back his head and laughed and John, unable to help it, smiled at the reaction.

 _Remarkable._  Now that was a word that one had never used to describe John Watson. His face flushed at the compliment as Sherlock leaned back, sizing him up. John lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, but there was warmth in his scowl that he couldn’t quite conceal.

He was tense, however. Terribly self-conscious among these strangers, among these people he did not, could not, understand. All their gazes were upon the both of them now, their movements slowed and distracted.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” John blurted, but he didn’t know why. There was something else… something else he was meant to be doing…

“Oh?” Sherlock asked casually, taking a step back and stretching out his hand to him, and now John could fully take in and appreciate his appearance. He was a resplendent figure. His midnight-blue jacket was most decadent, and its unusual texture reminded John of something unknown and exotic; like the coat of a great, feathered beast perhaps. It was beaded and jeweled at the collar, the fabric trailing down to his hips.

He stared at Sherlock’s outstretched hand, ever patient and unwavering. John wanted to touch it, he didn’t know why, but it felt vitally important that he do so. He took it and felt shaky, heat trailing up his neck and to his cheeks.

Any dizziness he felt tapered off as Sherlock grasped his hand and led them confidently to the center of the room. The masked figures parted with polite, nearly reverent head tilts and curtseys. The sense of sudden belonging was heady and John swayed with it, the music swelling once again as Sherlock pulled John to him and placed a palm against his hip. It was thrilling to dance, the easiest and most natural motion in the world with this man.

 

"I – feel…” John stopped, shaking his head.

"How do you feel?" Sherlock asked softly, sounding amused.

John felt his heart skip. "I feel like I’m a dream. But I’ve never felt one so real before. "

“Mm.” Sherlock had smiled at that, before gently grasping John’s left hand and pulling him forward, even closer.

John smiled. It was genuine but slightly nervous. He looked up at the very moment Sherlock looked down at him, his own slow smile spreading to reach his eyes. John thought how handsome Sherlock looked in that moment. The only eyes he could connect with in the whole room, not shuttered with mocking or whispers of secrets.

Within a beat of the music, Sherlock’s face had grown serious, his movements slowing. "Do you wish to stay in your dream, John?” Sherlock sounded sad. Thoughtful. "I could place the sky within your eyes. I could paint you mornings of gold…Although, we are strangers for now… But,” the man paused. “Would you… like to stay?”

Yes, of course John did. He nodded in earnest, feeling it was so utterly necessary. He tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hand… Why did it feel like this dance was nearly over?

_What are you forgetting, John Watson…_

"Then you will find what you want only as long as you stay in your dream. Even as the world falls down.”

Mesmerized, John had smiled tightly, feeling something constrict in his throat.

"Trust me," Sherlock said. “Can you do that?" He was so very close. “Trust that I won’t hurt you or what is yours?”

John nodded again. That heady sensation was back, filling him with equal measures of assurance and anticipation. Sherlock was going to kiss him. Was he meant to close his eyes? That’s what people did, wasn’t it? His eyelids fluttered.

Silence.

Startled, John pulled back—the music had ceased. The crowd had sealed their mouths, gloved hands to their lips. They simply stared. John glanced around, apprehensive, and then Sherlock was pulling away from him. Sad, again. He looked so—

“Sherlock…“

“Even as the world falls down… “ And the man had smiled.

John remembered now.

“Sherlock!—“

The clock struck twelve.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!~


End file.
